


Twice Shy

by RandomReader13



Series: broken bodies, daisy bloom [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Families of Choice, Gen, Heavy Angst, I think my titling is very clever, Panic Attacks, Survival, This is a rough one guys, Zombie Apocalypse, discussion of zombification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:56:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27585094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomReader13/pseuds/RandomReader13
Summary: Three.Jason threw his empty pistol at the zombie’s face. It didn’t even blink.Four.His arm shook from exertion, his ears ringing. The zombiepulled.Five.Jason’s hand slipped.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Everyone, Stephanie Brown & Jason Todd
Series: broken bodies, daisy bloom [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014831
Comments: 28
Kudos: 169





	Twice Shy

“Hood, watch out!”

Jason twisted and lashed out with a sharp kick, sending the zombie -- he didn’t _care_ that the term was insensitive, that’s what they _were_ , right down to the insatiable hunger -- flying backwards. The thing didn’t stay down, of course, lumbering back to its feet and stumbling forward, never mind the shattered ribs Jason _knew_ he had given it. He wasn’t an amature that couldn’t tell how much force equalled how much damage, but there was a corner of his brain that was constantly screaming now, because they didn’t react like they were supposed to, that hit was supposed to put it out for good, he was doing something wrong-

Except he _wasn’t_ and goddam it he didn’t have time to be distracted.

Jason reached into his belt, pulling out his throwing knives and flinging them with deadly precision. Bruce preferred to show excessive force only to illustrate what not to do, but the League had no such compunctions, and the knives went straight through skulls, sending three zombies, at least, down permanently.

It had taken too long to find a method that actually worked. Headshots, and headshots only, could stop them. They didn’t know why, but Tim and Bruce guessed it was because there was something in the brain that was operating, something warped by the virus and the fever, completely separate from pain receptors or any real personhood. Stop that, and the body returned to the corpse it was supposed to be.

Alfred, Dick, and Jason had been pretty busy in the past few days, brushing up on the rudimentary gun skills the others had. Even then, Jason found himself being called on more and more often. Occasional trips to the range had nothing on spending every night using various firearms, and Jason wasn’t sure Dick had even touched a gun since he left the BPD. It was weird, knowing the most about something. Bruce usually outmatched all of them in any field, but guns were one area he had always been finicky about. Jason understood. It wasn’t like he would be grabbing a crowbar any time soon, not unless it was the only option.

(Now, without the haze of green and hate and _kill,_ Jason felt sick, sometimes, when he thought about how gleefully he had picked up the gun training, made them his primary weapons, just to hurt Bruce more. If someone flaunted a crowbar in his face, knowing exactly what it did to him and relishing in it, Jason wasn’t sure what he would do. Have a mental breakdown, probably. Murder them horribly, definitely. That didn’t mean he would stop using them, though. He did like them, even if his reasons for starting out were fucked up, and he was good. He was very, very good. Not to mention they were particularly helpful when dealing with zombies.)

That didn’t mean they went looking for trouble, now that they knew how to put the zombies down. Preferably, Jason shouldn’t be in this situation at all, back against a wall as he fought back a slowly-expanding crowd. That was rule number one in surviving the zombie apocalypse: don’t get crowded. Unfortunately, Jason and Stephanie had been on a pharmacy run and had the unsurprisingly shitty luck to hit one that just happened to have a couple dozen zombies chilling in the back room. There were probably a couple bodies back there that hadn’t been picked quite clean left. But however it happened, Jason had packs of antibiotics and bandages and period products jammed into his pockets and at least twenty zombies closing in on him.

“Blondie! Let ‘em have it!” he yelled, slinging his AK-47 off his shoulder. He waited for Steph’s shout of acknowledgement before he started blasting. God, he loved that gun. Fully automatic with some...special modifications for a bit of flair. The zombies fell in waves as he focused on making head shots. It wouldn’t matter how much lead he poured into them if he wasn’t accurate. In just a few seconds the magazine was empty and the floor was littered with bodies. Jason pulled his pistol and finished off the ones that were still moving. Steph was still shooting, and Jason ran through the aisles, keeping low. She was doing well for herself, but she only had a pistol. With the two of them working together, they got out of the pharmacy and started racing through the streets. Guns were the fastest and most effective way to put the zombies down, but the noise attracted them like crazy. For the first few days, it hadn’t been too much of a problem. Most people living in Gotham proper had guns, and the city had been so full of the endless noise that the zombies hadn’t really had the chance to converge on any one place. As time went on though, the shooting dwindled. Jason hoped that they had just run out of ammunition, but the cynical part of himself knew it wasn’t true. Now, any gunshot was a beacon, and they didn’t have long to get away. Even now the shambling, shuffling figures appeared at corners and in the distance, all making a beeline for the pharmacy. They were individuals, though, not yet close enough to the source to have really clustered, and Jason and Steph were able to run past them, weaving back and forth across the street.

A few more yards and they could move to the roofs. Zombies couldn’t climb fire escapes and they couldn’t jump, which was great for the bats. They could, however, climb stairs and break open roof-access doors. It was still safer than the ground, though, and they angled for an alley.

Steph was in the front and she twisted to go into the alley and skidded to a stop with a quiet shriek. There was a zombie in front of her, lunging for her, and Jason had a pistol in his hand. The gunshot echoed through the eerily-silent streets. One by one, the zombies turned to face them. Jason cursed, grabbing Steph’s arm and bolting for the fire escape. It was rusted and broken off, and he paused to make a cup out of his hands.

“Go!” he barked. Steph took a few running steps and planted her boot in his hands. Jason launched her upward and she grabbed the fire escape, already a few rungs up from their combined force. She scrambled higher, making room for him, and Jason backed up, giving himself room for his own running start. He kicked off the wall and grabbed the bottom rung of the fire escape. “Keep going!” he yelled up at Steph when she paused to look back at him. She kept heading up and Jason braced his core, hauling himself up and grasping for the second rung. The whole process had only taken a few seconds.

It was enough.

Rough, clawing hands grabbed his leg. Jason yelped a curse, swinging his other leg wildly. He kicked the zombie’s face once, twice, but it didn’t let go, even as its bones shattered under his reinforced boot. 

“Jason!” Steph yelled.

Jason gritted his teeth. He had to get higher, had to get the leverage and grip to pull his leg free. He sucked in a sharp breath and lunged upward as hard as he could.

His fingers brushed the next rung.

Something grabbed his free leg.

Jason’s grip on the higher rung failed and he dropped, his left shoulder screaming as he barely managed to keep his hold on the lowest rung. There were five zombies in the alley and more streaming in. Two of them had his right leg, one on his left. Jason’s breath was coming short and fast, echoing in his ears

“I need backup!” Steph screamed, startlingly close, and it took Jason’s panicked brain a second to realize it was coming through his comm. “Fifth and Green! Now!”

Jason scrambled for his pistol, the fingers of his left hand spasming around the fire escape as the zombies _pulled_. He had died and come back, he had clawed his way out of his grave, he had taken over Gotham’s underworld and trained with the best of the best. He was not going to die because his grip failed.

The zombie holding his left leg fell back, a bullet between its eyes, and Jason swung it wildly, trying to keep one of the other ones from grabbing it.

Steph started shooting from her high vantage point, picking off the zombies further away from him. She couldn’t shoot any closer without risking hitting him. Jason sunk a bullet in one of the zombies on his right leg and took aim at the last.

 _Click_.

Jason stared at the zombie, his throat closing.

_One heartbeat._

Its mouth was smeared with blood, like most of them. It wore a suit with the remnants of a flower still pinned to the jacket.

 _Two_.

Steph downed another one. Three more pushed their way into the alley.

 _Three_.

Jason threw his empty pistol at the zombie’s face. It didn’t even blink.

_Four._

His arm shook from exertion, his ears ringing. The zombie _pulled_.

 _Five_.

Jason’s hand slipped.

His helmet hit the ground with a _crack_. There were hands on him, hands everywhere, clawing and grasping and _tearing_. Jason lashed out but they were piling on top of him, more and more, he couldn’t see, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t _breathe_. There was nothing but the pull and scrape of nails digging into him from every direction, the crushing weight as they fought to reach him, the overwhelming stench of death.

Jason didn’t scream, he didn’t have the air, he twisted and writhed, trying to get off his back, trying to reach his holsters, his utility belt, anything, anything at all. His AK-47 was under his back, if he could just _reach it_ -

Two hands grabbed his scrabbling forearm and _bit_.

Jason’s back arched, he let out a hoarse gasp. He tried to pull his arm away, but it was too much, there were too many bodies slamming into each other, pushing him further and further down. His lungs ached for air, his ribs felt like they were being crushed into his chest. He couldn’t even feel his legs.

Whatever zombie had his arm in its mouth _twisted_ , and Jason distinctly felt his skin tearing with the movement. Jason sobbed. He was bleeding, he could feel it running down his arm. He had armor on his arms and it hadn’t gone for the joint, if he was very, very lucky it would have held up enough to protect him from the actual saliva. Still bad, but not the worst. Not the worst.

A fist slammed down on his helmet, and Jason couldn’t tell if the screaming was coming from him or his comm. His vision was going spotty, his limbs weighed a ton.

His helmet cracked under the next blow, the zombie paying no attention to its shattered hands and wrists. Jason’s skull vibrated with every blow.

He was going to die. Jason realized it in a sort of absent part of his mind, like when someone tells you a vaguely interesting fact and you just go, _huh_. Strawberries aren’t berries, porcupines can float, and Jason Todd was going to die.

The zombie dropped his chewed-up arm and Jason wanted to cradle it to his chest, to curl up in a ball and shake himself to pieces, but he couldn’t move it. It was trapped in a partially upright position and another zombie could notice it any second. Jason stared up at the one still battering his helmet. It stared back, teeth bared with what he assumed was excitement. His eyes slid shut.

“ _Jason. Jason_!”

The weight that was driving him into the ground lessened. Jason peeled his eyes open. He couldn’t see, dripping blood obscuring his vision, and for a second Jason thought they had made it through his helmet, that they were eating him right now, that any second he would start feeling the pain-

It was on his helmet. The blood was on the outside of his helmet. Jason blinked slowly.

“ _Jason_! Answer me, damn it!”

The weight kept lightening. Jason’s arm collapsed against his chest as the bodies pinning it in place were pulled away. The shadow of a figure appeared above him.

“Jay?” The voice was quiet and trembling. A hand wiped his visor clear. Jason blinked up at Dick.

“Bruce, he’s not answering,” Dick said, fumbling for Jason’s neck. Jason wasn’t sure why he bothered. It wasn’t like he would be able to feel his pulse, not with his armored gloves on and the duct tape they had wrapped around the high collar of his armored leather jacket, a last layer of protection that had proved surprisingly effective.

Another figure loomed over Dick’s shoulder. “Jason?” Bruce’s quiet voice said. A hand wrapped around Jason’s fingers. “Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”

His fingers didn’t want to move. Everything hurt, now that he had time to notice, a bone-deep kind of pain that made Jason’s breath catch in his chest. He ground his teeth together and forced his hand to squeeze. It was more like a spasm, but Bruce looked so hopeful that Jason’s chest loosened a little.

“You can hear me?” he confirmed. Jason would have groaned if he had the energy, but he squeezed a second time.

“That’s good, that’s so good, Jay-lad.” Bruce sounded choked up. “We’re going to get you back home, okay?”

Actually, Jason wanted to lay there for a little longer, just to catch his breath. He tried to find the words to convey that, but Bruce was already gently pulling him upright, wrapping Jason’s arm over his shoulders. Another person did the same with his other side and Jason managed to turn his hanging head just enough to catch sight of blue finger stripes.

“We’ve got you, Little Wing,” Dick said.

* * *

The trip back to the apartment was a blur. Jason honestly couldn’t have answered if someone asked if they were on the roof or the ground or in a car, let alone the route. Every inch of his body was so busy screaming at him that he couldn’t spare much mental space for anything else. That tiny sliver that wasn’t occupied with that was industrially working to convince him that he was actually dead again. The last time he had been beaten to death -- did this count as being beaten to death? Maybe it was more like being trampled and eaten to death? Whatever, unhelpful, moving on. The last time he had been beaten to death, he had waited for help too. He had imagined Bruce bursting in the door over and over again, convinced that any second would be the one. It stood to reason that this time, he would imagine the same thing. Though, his imagination seems to have gotten stronger, if the hands constantly tapping and rubbing and lifting him were any indication.

The blast of water that hit him directly in the face disproved that theory. Jason jerked back, flailing weakly in Bruce and Dick’s arms, but they held him upright and directly in the powerful stream of water. Jason’s helmet was still on, but it still felt a bit like getting punched in the face. “Th’ fuuuuck,” he moaned.

“Jason?”

The stream of water dropped down, spraying his chest, and Jason wheezed a little at the way it pushed on his definitely-broken ribs. He tried to wiggle out of the way, but Bruce caught him under the arm.

“Jason, we need to get you cleaned off. It’s too dangerous.”

Jason knew that...he did...there was a good reason it was dangerous too. He just couldn’t focus enough to remember what. The spray moved off his chest and he could suck in a breath enough to whisper, “F’ckin’...mean.”

“He’s definitely got a concussion,” Dick said, sounding worried.

Bruce grunted and Jason resigned himself to the impromptu shower, only whimpering a bit when they turned to the side and got him directly in the bitten arm.

Oh shit.

Bite. Biting was...bad. Biting was not a good way to express feelings. God, he was so concussed, where the fuck did that thought come from?

The water was slowly seeping through his armor into his clothes, which sucked, but the cold was clearing his mind a little, and Jason’s head snapped up off his chest fast enough that his vision spun. “Where’s Steph?” he demanded.

“Right here,” a watery voice said. Ah, Steph was the one currently torturing him with a fire hose.

“You- hurt?” he managed. Finally the water turned off and Jason was tugged over to a chair. He slumped down on it and tried to keep his gaze focused on Steph, even as the walls wavered and someone was peeling him out of his uniform.

“You nearly died and you’re asking me if I’m hurt?” Steph asked, sniffling a little. Jason stared at her. “I’m fine,” she said. “You got me up, remember? You boosted me up and then you-” her voice cut off.

Jason tilted his head to one side as Dick carefully tugged his helmet off. His hair dropped down into his eyes, damp from the light spray of water that had made it through the cracks in his helmet. “Hey,” he said. “S’not your fault. Y’know that, yeah? S’not.”

Steph sniffed again. “I could barely help you. If it had been you up there-”

Jason flapped his hands to shut her up. “Don’ be stupid. S’better f’it’s me.” He smiled lopsidedly. “M’already a zombie.”

Any other time that would earn him a weary look or a smack upside the head, but Bruce didn’t even twitch. He wasn’t moving at all, actually. Jason dragged his head to the side. “B? Wha’s wrong?”

Bruce was holding his right arm tightly, staring down at it. Jason blinked. “Bruce?” His voice came out more nervous than Jason had intended. “I was jus’ joking about the zombie thing.”

Bruce slowly lifted his arm, tilting it so the rest of them could see. Steph gasped. Dick inhaled sharply through his teeth. Jason stared down at the flesh that had been ripped and torn. It was all still there, thank God, but mangled and ugly. But Jason had thought of that, it didn’t mean he was infected, as long as the armor held up, it was okay.

Bruce held up Jason’s armored bodysuit, pulling the material taut so they could see the hole, its jagged edges mimicking a hideous smile.

“Oh,” Jason said faintly.

Things went a bit...blurry again, after that. Jason would never consider himself susceptible to shock, and certainly not to fainting, but the realization that...well. It was worse, coming on the heels of the hope that he had actually made it out, that he had beaten the odds once again.

They had never been the luckiest people around.

Bruce was crouched in front of him, speaking in a low, soothing stream. Jason’s hand was pressed to his chest, and Jason automatically began mimicking the man’s breathing pattern. Slowly, the ringing in his ears went away and he could hear Bruce talking. The man paused, studying Jason’s eyes. “Are you back with us?” he asked quietly. Jason nodded stiffly, eyes drifting down to his arm. Bruce gently grasped his chin, pulling his gaze back up “Jason, it will be okay,” he said, as implacable as always.

“Bruce,” Jason said, a hint of manic amusement in his voice, “this isn’t something you can punch away.”

“Try me,” Bruce said, and Jason laughed for real. A faint flicker of a smile crossed Bruce’s face before he turned serious again. “Jay...you understand what we have to do.”

Jason swallowed, resolutely not looking at the bed they had dragged inside, the one with padded restraints locked on the head and footboards. “Yeah,” he rasped. “Yeah, I know.”

Bruce clasped his shoulder, staring into his eyes. “Okay,” he said, still calm, still in control, and it made Jason feel a bit better even as he wanted to rip his hair out and scream. “Here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to finish getting you out of your uniform. Stephanie is going to go get you some fresh clothes.” Steph nodded and disappeared. “We’re going to spray you again, to make sure we got everything.” Jason groaned but nodded. It was standard procedure, make absolutely certain nothing followed them into the apartment. Or, in Jason’s case, into the bed in the corner. “You’re going to get changed.” Bruce swallowed. “And then we have to restrain you,” he said softly.

Jason closed his eyes, jaw clenched tight, and nodded.

“One of us will stay with you,” Bruce promised. “We won’t leave you alone. This is just until you get better.”

Jason laughed, low and hoarse. “Bruce,” he said. “People don’t get better from this.”

“You got better from dying once before,” Bruce said firmly. “You can do it again.”

Jason choked on another laugh, or maybe it was a sob.

Bruce grabbed his shoulders, staring into Jason’s eyes. He had pulled down the cowl, and Jason was grateful, even though he really shouldn’t have broken protocol. He wasn’t going to be seeing anyone’s eyes again, most likely. “You can beat this,” the man said, shaking Jason a little when he shook his head. “You can beat this,” he repeated, “and we will be with you every step of the way.” Jason remained silent and after a moment Bruce sighed and said, “Are you ready?”

Jason took a deep breath. He didn’t try to suppress the way it shuddered. There wasn’t much point in bravado. He would be raving with fever in a matter of hours. He would be dead a day or two later if he was lucky, over a week if he wasn’t. And then he’d come back. And one of his family members would have to put a bullet between his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, pushing himself off the chair. The sooner he was strapped down, the sooner Alfred could come in and give him something for the pain.

It was a relief to have clean, dry clothes, but Jason still felt dirty. He couldn’t get rid of the feeling of rotting hands, and Bruce had stopped him when he started scratching hard enough to leave long, red lines down his torso and up his arms. Bruce was infinitely gentle as he waited for Jason to get comfortable on the bed before locking his ankles in place. He paused by Jason’s head, running his hand -- still in gloves, but these were new, clean ones -- through Jason’s hair a few times. “It’ll be okay,” he promised once again.

Jason looked up at him for a long moment before jerking upright and flinging his arms around Bruce. Bruce reciprocated immediately, holding him close and resting his chin on Jason’s hair. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing, with all of Bruce’s armor, but Jason had long grown used to that. He pressed his forehead hard against Bruce’s chest and let himself fall apart.

His ribs ached and he was a bit light-headed by the time he ran out of tears, and he just let Bruce hold him for a long few minutes. “Bruce?” he said softly.

“Yes, Jay-lad?” Bruce replied, stroking the short hairs at the base of Jason’s neck.

“You have to swear to me you’ll do it,” Jason said.

Bruce froze. He pulled back so he could see Jason’s face. Jason stared at him. “Do what,” Bruce asked, with a falsely even tone.

“Don’t do that to me, Bruce,” Jason said. “Don’t make me say it. Just swear to me you’ll do it.”

Bruce wavered. “I won’t have to,” he said. “Because you’re going to beat this.”

“Bruce.” Jason met his eyes. “If I don’t,” he wasn’t, no one did, it was impossible. “You have to swear to me. You can’t-” his breath caught in his throat. “You can’t let me be like that. Please Bruce,” he whispered. “You can’t.”

Bruce didn’t answer for a long few seconds. He kept one hand on the back of Jason’s neck as he stared at the wall. Jason leaned into the touch and waited. Bruce took a shaky breath. “I will wait as long as possible,” he said. “I won’t give up on you. But,” his throat clicked as he swallowed. “If it comes to it. I’ll do it.”

Jason’s chest loosened all at once, and he fell back against Bruce’s chest. “Thank you,” he whispered.

* * *

The fever came quickly. By the time darkness had fully set in, Jason was tossing and turning, forehead beaded with sweat. Bruce held his hand, wiping his face and neck with a cool cloth. Dick was in the opposite corner, leaning against the wall with his arms folded tightly over his chest as his gaze flicked from Jason to the door.

They had had time for everyone to say goodbye, and that was the only thing Bruce could find remotely positive in this situation. Jason hadn’t wanted the other to see him once the fever set in, had wanted their last memory of him to be something more positive. Bruce understood, even though he rebelled against the idea that it had really been goodbye. Jason was strong. He had gone through so much, and had come so far. He had done impossible things a hundred times over. He could do it once more.

But as the hours passed, and the sun rose, and Alfred came back with more medicine, Bruce’s stomach slowly turned to a rock.

Jason had a few minutes of lucidity, around noon, and Bruce dared to hope, but a few minutes later he was back to the silent thrashing, the random words muttered to invisible people, and Bruce clutched his son’s hand in both of his own, pressing it against his forehead as he prayed to whoever might be listening. Dick came over, resting a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, and kindly didn’t mention the tear tracks running down Bruce’s face. He had matching ones, himself.

As the sun set on the second day, Bruce found himself increasingly aware of the pistol holstered at his side. It always made him feel uncomfortable, even as he had been forced to get used to it, and quick. But now, it felt like it was burning a hole through his armor, growing hotter and heavier with every one of Jason’s rasping breaths.

Everything in Bruce’s being revolted at the idea of his promise. But he couldn’t refuse, not when he knew what the alternative was, not when he could see how terrified Jason was at the idea. So he had agreed, and he had hated himself every second since. How could he possibly raise a weapon against his son? How could he possibly look into his eyes and-

Bruce jerked out of the chair, bolting over to one of the drainage holes they had cut in the floor and throwing up.

“Bruce?!” Dick demanded, sounding terrified. They still weren’t sure how the virus worked, but nothing had pointed towards it being transferable by air.

Bruce raised a hand to stop him. “It’s- not that-” he panted, bracing his hands on the floor. “It’s not that,” he repeated, voice breaking.

Dick sucked in a shaky breath. “Bruce,” he said, voice like shattered glass. “If- if you can’t do this-” He gulped a breath. “I- I could-”

“No.” Bruce rose to his feet, shaking his head. “Absolutely not.” He walked over to Dick and wrapped him in a hug. “I would never ask you to do that.

Dick broke down, and Bruce wished vainly that he had just left the city when this whole mess started. If he had known that it would come to this…. But it was too late. He could only hold his son tight, trying to keep them both from falling to pieces.

On the third day, something changed. Jason’s eyes started glowing, enough that it was visible through his eyelids.

“The Lazarus Pit?” Dick asked, leaning over to get a closer look.

“It’s fighting it,” Bruce breathed. He had hoped for so long that the Pit’s effects had completely worn away, that his son was free from its influence, but now he found himself tracking the green with breathless hope, as it spread through Jason’s veins down to his feet. Even if the horrible side-effects came back, he would take that a thousand times over, if it meant his son would live.

Jason thrashed harder, the further the green spread, and Bruce tried to hold him steady, whispering reassurances.

“His fever’s getting dangerously high,” Dick reported worriedly.

Bruce clutched Jason’s hand tighter. “Come on, Jay-lad,” he whispered. “You can do it.”

The sun was beginning to set when the green glow disappeared all at once, and Jason’s movements stopped with it.

Bruce, who had been basically lying on top of Jason while running his fingers through his hair and humming quietly, sat up. “Jason?” he said softly.

Jason didn’t move.

Bruce reached out with a shaking hand, feeling for a pulse. When he couldn’t find one, he ripped off his glove, ignoring Dick’s shout of alarm, and pressed his fingers hard into Jason’s neck. Nothing. He grabbed Jason’s wrist and checked there. Nothing. He held his ear close to Jason’s mouth, watching his chest desperately. Nothing.

Dick barely managed to grab Bruce before he started administering mouth-to-mouth. “Bruce!” he cried. “Are you insane?!”

“I have to save him,” Bruce cried, lunging forward.

Dick twisted around and got him in a hold. “If you can’t control yourself I will drag you out of here,” he said, voice as hard as granite. Bruce keened softly, watching the too-still chest, the too-limp limbs, the too-empty face. “Bruce,” Dick said, voice breaking. “You can give chest compressions but you can’t- we can’t lose you too.”

Bruce took several hard breaths before nodding. Dick slowly let him go. Before Bruce could move to start compressions, Jason twitched. They both froze. Jason twitched again, sucking in a raspy breath.

“Dick,” Bruce said, staring at Jason. “You need to leave.”

“No!” Dick said, taking a step away from Bruce but not away from the bed.

“Now.”

“Bruce, I’m not-”

Bruce whirled on him. “ _Now, Richard_.”

Dick caught his breath on a sob. He looked at Jason for a long moment, stepping forward to run his hand through Jason’s sweat-soaked hair. “Goodbye, Little Wing,” he breathed, before spinning on his heel and running out of the room.

Bruce fell into his chair. Jason kept breathing, kept moving, jerky and uncoordinated, as if his brain was relearning how to control his limbs. Bruce took a slow, shuddering breath and unholstered the pistol. It felt alien in his hand, cold and deadly, and Bruce wanted nothing more than to throw it out the window. But he couldn’t. He had made a promise to his dying son, and he would keep it.

Jason’s face scrunched up, and Bruce was flung six years into the past, waking Jason up for school after a long night of patrol. He had always been so grumpy in the mornings.

The boy’s eyes fluttered, and Bruce braced himself. This was it. Jason would wake up and try to kill him. And Bruce would have to kill him instead.

Jason’s eyes opened. They weren’t the bright blue from his earliest memories of the boy, and they weren’t the neon green of the Pit. They were the palest shade of blue, as if all the color had been sucked from them. Lifeless.

Bruce let out a choked sob as he raised the gun, putting it gently against Jason’s forehead. Jason made a low hissing noise. Bruce couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t say any of the things he so desperately wanted to, he could barely see through his tears.

Jason blinked at him, face scrunching, hands tugging against the restraints, and Bruce had to hunch over, breathing hard and trying not to throw up. He bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood and sat back up again, readjusting his aim, hand shaking as he tried to keep it steady. This was for Jason, he had sworn to it, he couldn’t force anyone else to take this on their shoulders. He was Jason’s father, he could do this one final thing for him, he could make sure Jason’s body didn’t wander the city, killing and destroying, a mockery of the wonderful person his son was.

Bruce took a final, steadying breath.

Jason blinked again, eyes clearing a little even as he squinted.

“Finally got sick of me, old man?”

**Author's Note:**

> You didn't really think I was about to kill off my boy, did you?


End file.
